


The Gift of Water

by faeriesung



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Novice Altaïr, Novices, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriesung/pseuds/faeriesung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik teaches Altaïr to swim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HerBrazenElegance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerBrazenElegance/gifts).



It was a rare occasion that they were on mission together. Malik had been assigned to partner Altair by virtue of his previous experience with travel routes between Masyaf and Homs. Malik went by this way during his first formal mission to Homs and Palmyra. Altair was almost of age now – nearing the end of his training as a novice. He knew that he was being primed for his first formal mission that would take place very soon. He had been anticipating it for months. Malik, being 2 years older and one cohort senior to Altair, had completed his 6-month long formal mission a year ago. On this mission though, they were merely gathering information – work that Altair had done many times around Masyaf, alone. 

The Novice made no effort to conceal his boredom with the tasks and resentment with being accompanied. Altair craved action. Combat was nearly all he knew since the first day of his rigorous training in Masyaf. He expected to put his training to good use. 

Malik hoped Altair paid at least some attention to what about geography and their network of informants he was trying to teach. The younger boy followed the journeyman’s instructions for the most part, but was disengaged at best. Altair was impatient with their slow pace of travel, which, on every given chance, he blamed on having redundant company. Along the highway from Masyaf to Homs, the Novice had repeatedly tried to ride ahead and give Malik the slip.

Malik was planning to show the Novice the back of his hand, but it might be unnecessary now, as the journeyman was consistently leading the way on this lesser-known route they were travelling. They took the south eastern highway from Masyaf to Homs, but after a half-day visit to the city, they turned west to Quattina Lake and rode through the narrow, forested route along the Southern Great River, which would lead to the valleys south of Masyaf. 

The river was bubbling swiftly some way away to the west. There was quite a bit of snow this past winter, and this spring had brought good rain. The forest was echoing with the loud, pulsating calls of cicadas, and cacophonies of birdsong. It was a sight and sound not found in Masyaf. The canopies provided much welcomed shelter from the summer sun. To Malik, it was a welcomed refuge from the hot days and arid landscapes to the east, where there could be neither shade nor reliable source of water for several days’ ride. There would be some rough and jagged terrains, and it could get damp and sweltering once they enter the narrow valleys, but in these dry, hot days of summer, a guarantee of water meant a greater chance of survival. 

They were going much slower than on the highway, but Altair was reticent, and falling behind. Malik glanced back at his charge, who rode with his head hung low, oblivious to the sights and sounds around him. 

Malik slowed the horse to a halt. At this, Altair looked up. Malik stepped off his gelding. The Novice paused, then made a clearly reluctant descent from his horse.

“Are we not continuing on this path?” Altair led his gelding towards the journeyman, an accusatory scowl knotted between his brows. 

Malik turned toward a gentle but rock-strewn ascent.

“Ibn Faheem. This route is inefficient enough as it is.” Altair spoke coolly, “Any detour would be a further waste of time.”

Altair’s voice was hoarse and raspy now. Malik gave his gelding a few gentle pats, before turning back towards the Novice, who stood in the middle of the path with the biggest frown on his face. Malik reached out a hand to pull off the younger boy’s grey hood. Altair drew back his head instinctively. 

“Shut your mouth and follow.” Malik said. He held on to the boy’s scruff, and took a good look at the boy’s amber eyes. His pupils were unusually small, like a predator’s, even in the shade of the canopy, and those eyes that glowered at him still shone with a keen light. The skin below his eyes though, was swollen and dark. His lips were very dry, and his skin was pale and quite warm to the touch. 

“Are you cold?” Malik asked.

Malik attempted to touch Altair’s forehead, but Altair shoved the older boy’s arm away with the back of his wrist.

The Novice would never admit to his tiredness and discomfort, even though, by the looks of him, it was clear he was treading near the edge. Malik knew that Altair could go without sleep for days and still function at a high level. Still, all creatures need sleep eventually. They would be entering a bandit-infested ravine in two days where conditions were extremely unpredictable. Once in the ravine, they would have a series of liaising to go through, and possibly some serious combat. Missions like this one were supposed to test out a novice’s limit, but the ravine was, all things considered, the poorest place to do so. 

As far as Malik knew, Altair had never travelled far beyond Masyaf ever since he first arrived. Malik had once heard him mention in passing that could see ghosts and spirits easily – and that his senses were heightened at night -- even the shift of a shadow would pull his attention taut. He had always known that Altair was a very light sleeper. The forest was always loud at night – the water never stopped flowing, and creatures that slept in the day would wander among the shadows between the elusive moonlight under those canopies – it probably kept Altair awake the entire time.

“Go on and leave me be.” Altair spat. “ Or I’ll ride ahead.”

“Don’t you worry. We have twelve days’ ride through the valleys,” Malik glared down at the Novice, “There will be plenty of chances to get yourself killed.”

“Then why don’t you get on with it?” Altair bared his teeth, 

“Ride ahead if you want.” Malik laughed inwardly. The exhaustion and insomnia did nothing to alleviate the Novice’s querulous temperament. 

The journeyman turned away and started leading the gelding up the slope. He was glad to hear hooves and footsteps in his wake a brief moment later. It seemed like the Novice had enough self-awareness to know his limit. 

Malik glanced back at Altair, who stared straight back, his eyes wild with dauntless disdain. Malik stifled a smile. The Novice was too cute even when trying to keep up the pace.

 

Malik was looking for a lake. He remembered from his trip here a year ago that there were several big and small lakes in this lush green area that didn’t dry up in the summer. They had not bathed since they spent the night in the safe house outside of Homs many days ago, and this seemed like a good day to do so. Both of them could do with a little cooling down. 

They climbed the small hill among some sprawling shrubs, which soon began to descend and open up to a glade. A wide, calm lake the colour of green jasper was soon in sight a little further along. The two travellers let their horses drink their fill, before tying them up in the shade a little away from the lake. 

Altair kneeled down on an outcrop of rocks and leaned down carefully. He reached out to scoop a palmful of water, bringing it slowly to his lips.

Malik was exhilarated – ignoring the Novice completely, he had already kicked off his boots and was fast untying his sash – he had been itching to swim.

Altair stared at the older boy in complete bewilderment. Malik paused. He looked back at the younger boy with an expectant lift of his brows.

“You are not going in?”

“What?”

Mal took off his breeches in an instant, and jumped in.

He turned back to face the Novice, who now seemed a little pale. 

“Come, join me!”

Malik did not wait for Altair’s response – the younger boy remained silent and stationery at the edge of the lake. Very quickly, the older boy had swum out a long way from the edge. 

Malik laid back and made a shallow scoop through the surface of the water, letting the early summer sun hit his face and body. The water was cool but the surface was lukewarm and comfortable -- he shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, paddling lazily with outstretched arms – he had not had the chance to swim like this in a long time. There was a river about half a day’s walk from Masyaf, but they rarely ever had the time off for swimming, they were only allowed very quick baths. 

Being in the water again brought him back to his childhood -- there was a river downhill from his village, just half an hour’s walk. It was a branch of the river Asi that flowed through Hama and Masyaf, and was their chief source of water. In early summer when the water was clear and beginning to warm, he would swim there with all the rest of the children from the village, among the songs of the washerwomen and the banter of older boys who were trying to fish with nets woven with fibre from date palms. Swimming came naturally to him – being buoyed and caressed by the water eased any strain in his mind and hands and feet so weary from running and climbing. 

Malik dove backwards, flipping swiftly back up to face the edge of the lake where the Novice was still sitting. Malik swam towards the younger boy.

“Come on down.” Malik said with small flick of his chin, smiling. 

Altair did not smile. He look a little more relaxed now, however – colour had returned to his lips and cheeks -- his face was wet and his hair was dripping, soaking the neck of his tunic. Strands of brown hair clung to his brows. The boy swept them away with one hand, the eyes of a tiger once again fixed on Malik Ibn Faheem Al-Sayf, his cohort senior and mentor on this mission, whom he found exasperating and incomprehensible. Not least because he seemed to be keeping himself afloat in water without effort.

“You are from Damascus?” Malik asked, treading in the water. The day was still warm and it was too good to leave just yet.

“I used to live in Maaloula.” Altair said, his voice more amicable now. “Though I remember almost nothing of it.”

“Oh, no wonder you spoke with a funny accent,” Malik mused, “Maaloula, northeast of Damascus, near the desert -- there is nothing like this over there, I suppose?”

“No. Only wells, and small mountain springs.” Altair replied. 

Maaloula was a village in the valley facing a vast desert in the east. There was spring water from the mountains, but water was often scarce, and was needed for many people and many things – for the cattle, for the crops, for the newborns to bathe and for all to drink and wash. He was often made to fetch water from the well in the town hall down the hill from where he lived. If there was not much snow or rain, there would be long lines at the well and people would often fight just to get the water they needed. If he spilled water on the way back up the hill, he would be punished. Altair could only dream of ever submerging in such a large body of water. He never even saw a real river or until he was on his way to Masyaf with a senior Assassin, whom he found out was his father only some years later.

Malik climbed up a rock, leaving wet footprints on the dry surface, his olive skin slick and dripping with water. He crouched next to the younger boy, who seemed apprehensive of even having his sleeves and breeches stained by water. 

“Swimming is the best remedy.” Malik said, giving Altair a pat on the back with a wet hand. “Clothes will drag you down so it’s best to take them off.”

“Watch.” Malik said to the younger boy. He stretched his arm forward and put his palms on top of each other, making a point. He lowered his head between his arms, and in a smooth motion, he leapt, making an arch in the air. The tip of his palms breached the surface of the water -- in half an eye blink, he disappeared completely in the green jasper, sending a flurry of droplets and white ripples across the surface.  
Malik resurfaced a little further down where he landed in the water, facing Altair, who was still perched on the same spot, watching Malik with an enigmatic expression. 

“Try it, Altair!” Malik called out. “Jump in like I did, and kick the water like this.” The older boy hit the surface of the water with alternating motion of his palms. 

“I didn’t say I wanted to.” Altair said, almost in a grumble.

“I can’t hear you!” Malik yelled. “Take your fucking clothes off!” 

Malik whipped the surface of the water with an arm, sending a sharp wave crest and a spray of droplets flying towards Altair. The younger boy dodged, but the water still hit his shoulder and breeches. Altair thinned his lips. He pulled off his boots and loosened the knot in his sash – a moment later, he was standing naked at the edge of the lake, glaring at Malik, who broke in to a wide grin.

Altair stared at the deep blue water and imagined a leap of faith – something he had done many times before, though never into a darkness before him like this. He wasn’t unfamiliar with darkness – he had experienced it before – a loss of consciousness from the lack of breathing. It was part of their training. Altair wasn’t fazed, though it was something he absolutely loathed. It was part of the reason he would stay awake for many days when given a task to complete – sleep interrupted his concentration, and he loathed the loss of his sense of clarity and control that came with the loss of consciousness. 

He looked at the rippling deep blue water again – he could see the rocks a little beneath the surface, and the reeds that grew out of the crevices swaying in rhythm with the water. He imagined that he would reach the ground, and the water would simply brace him for it, and then he would rise up to the surface again, like Malik did. He followed Malik’s demonstration, and took his leap.

Everything was dark and he could not breathe. He opened his eyes but nothing he saw made sense to him – only a net of white bubbles around him, set against a strange shade of blue – and it made his eyes sting. He prided himself on being able to see better than most in the dark, but here, he could make nothing of what was in front of him. Water occluded his hearing – he could hear nothing like the rush of air past his face, only a strange low booming set against the throbbing of his own pulse in is ears. Water seemed to invade every inch of his skin and all of his senses that he relied on above ground. Instinctively, he raised his head, and to his relief, the light diffused through the mosaic surface met his eyes – he reached out his arm to touch the light, only to find himself sinking further down. He opened his mouth but it was a mistake he had no time to correct – air escaped in a string of bubbles and water gorged into his mouth – his could feel his lungs shrink and his chest tighten painfully. He tried to run with his legs, which only seemed to be filled with lead. He reached out the other arm now, towards the broken light, the tips of his fingers seemed to touch the mosaic and he opened his arms ferociously, wanting to tear the veiled mosaic open to reach the light beyond.

Altair broke the surface of the water, gasping heavily – the first thing he saw when light finally filled his eyes was Malik, with his eyes gleaming earnestly and arms stretched out towards him. 

“Good! See, it’s simple isn’t it…” Malik smiled proudly at the boy from Maaloula who had never seen a lake, and was now swimming and kicking up sprays of water like a brown bear cub. But before Malik could say a word further, Altair roared and clamped onto Malik’s outstretched arms with desperate ferocity, making the older boy hiss with pain. 

“You are doing very well!” Malik ignored the angry bruises fast forming on his arm, urging the younger boy on. “Kick lighter, and try to use your arms.”

They were moving further away from the edge. Altair looked back at what would be an effortless distance to run but now seemed like an unreachable other side of a chasm. 

“Altair,” Malik said. “Look forward.”

Altair turned his head back – Malik seemed to be moving further away, and Altair wasn’t sure if he was moving forward – he could only feel himself sinking slowly, again. 

“Now, let go of me.” Malik said softly. Before Altair could even registered the words in this confusing situation where all of his senses had been breached and his ears were still ringing from being in the water – the hands that had held his slipped away.

Something seemed to tick in Altair’s brain when the calloused fingertips brushed past his own and he was completely alone in the water again – the water was now dragging his body down rapidly. Altair lunged forward with what he could muster of his limbs, and latched onto the Malik’s shoulders. The water stifled half of the older boy’s yell. Both of them sank beneath the surface from the sudden force and Altair’s helpless weight. 

They were surrounded by a bizarre net of bubbles again. Altair shut his eyes to shield them from the rush of water -- they were falling fast, through the darkness – the only sensation he could feel was Malik’s warmth, and his steady heartbeat against his own frenzied pulsations against his ribcage and in his ears. 

Malik braced an arm against Altair’s torso, and with a few powerful kicks, they broke the surface of the water and were brought back into the bright sunlight again. 

“Novice, you aren’t even trying!” Malik said, between bouts of coughing and gasping. His voice was hoarse and broken, but there was no anger, nor scorn, only mirth in his tone. Altair couldn’t see it but he knew that Malik was smiling. 

“Shut up and bring me back.” Altair said quietly.

The Novice had his head against the nook of the older boy’s neck. It was a sharp déjà vu. They had not been this close since four years ago, when Altair’s father Umar died. Altair did not close his eyes for six days and five nights following the execution. Altair was completely berserk during those days – he spoke not a word but lashed out violently at combat trainings. No one could control him. But no one knew that he had not had a single moment of sleep either. Malik found the boy throwing darts and freezing himself to death in the storage shed after his night sentry shift. The young novice was finally able to fall asleep that night, with his head buried in the nook of Malik’s shoulder -- only they were not naked then but were fully armed and wrapped in Malik’s woollen coat. 

Malik leaned his head against the younger boy’s – it seemed to help calm him down. His tense body and clawing grip on his shoulders softened a little. Once Altair relaxed, the water carried part of his weight and it became much easier for Malik to navigate the water. They were not too far away from the edge anyway. Malik found a spot with some shade from the trees and set his charge against a smooth rock surrounded by soft reeds. 

Malik brought the younger boy’s face in front of his. Those feral, amber eyes were heavily lidded now. Small droplets of water clung to his lashes. Droplets slid down his forehead, along his dark brows, contoured his flushed cheeks and fell between his parted lips. Malik placed a tentative thumb on Altair’s chin, and planted a gentle kiss on those lips, now full and softened by water. 

As Malik broke the kiss, Altair looked up, met by a pair of familiar hazel eyes that gazed steadily, and intently into his. He had not noticed how soft they actually were now – glowing like embers in a low fire. He was accustomed to reading small changes in those dark eyes that were cold, fierce and infused with bloodlust in the training ring, reflecting his own.

The water glimmered in the sunlight. Seen from the shade they were in, the lake was gilded with a sheen of rippling gold. It was like a scene in a reverie. The foliage above them broke the sunbeams, sending patches and splinters of light swaying on the water surface, playing at the corner of Malik’s brow, the angle of his cheek, the taut skin stretched over his collar bones, and his bruised shoulders. 

“Malik.” Altair leaned in to kiss Malik again. They could feel the heat on each other’s cheeks. The corners of their lips had barely brushed past each other when Malik pulled back sharply. 

“Go back in the water and I’ll kiss you again.” Malik nodded at the middle of the lake, his face suddenly set and stern.

Heat rose to Altair’s cheeks in a flash of anger. His brows furrowed. He swung a swift punch at Malik’s throat. Malik avoided it fluidly and shot away into the water, laughing. 

Altair turned around to climb out of the water, stepping carefully on wet rocks, grappling with the reeds and digging his nails in the dirt to pull himself up. Once out of the water, his limbs and shoulders felt so heavy, that they seemed to sink into earth, making him stumble a little on the level ground. He raked a hand through his hair, tossing his head back – the sun blinded him momentarily. Heat from the sunbeams seemed to stab at his exposed shoulders. He shivered from being bereft of warmth.

The cold air around him seemed to be weighing him down. But Altair found that he was regaining a clear grasp of his five senses quickly, and was glad for it. It was a cloudless sky. The trees rustled intermittently in the wind, the cicadas and birds continued their chorus in the distance. It felt good to be able to feel the soft grass and firm soil beneath his feet again. 

Altair picked up the tunic that had been carelessly strewn on the rocks – it was warm to the touch from the sun. He wrapped it around his shoulders only to realize that it was Malik’s. Unconsciously, he lifted the cuff of a sleeve to his lips, and took in the smell of sweat and blood that still lingered in the cloth. His amber eyes fluttered shut – a surge of warmth began to spread slowly in his chest. He wanted nothing but to rest his head against Malik’s shoulder and go into a dreamless slumber.

Malik had swum far away from where Altair was sitting now, his tousled dark hair and muscled back lit up by the sun. Every now and then he dived into the water and came back up again. Altair drew the tunic closer to his chest. He felt the corner of his lips lift into a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before Maaloula was besieged. I am saddened by the news, and I hope for peace in the region.


End file.
